


Fanboy

by Welikesandalwood



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Books helped them escape their trauma, Breaking the Fourth Wall, Fanboy!Neil, Fanfiction Author!Andrew, First Meetings, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Multiple Book References, They bond over their shared love of Books
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:00:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29138205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Welikesandalwood/pseuds/Welikesandalwood
Summary: Andrew - leather jacket, biker boots, unimpressed glare, Maserati driving - Minyard also happens to be a closeted fanfiction author. When he visits a nearby and supposedly quiet diner to write, he meets a mouthy and endearing waiter who just happens to be Fanboy99 - one of his biggest fans.They bond over Andrew adopting the diner's stray cat, but how long will it take them to realize that they no longer need to put up a front and hide the Fanboy, nerdy parts of themselves?
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 29
Kudos: 89





	1. Coffee. Black, like my soul.

**Author's Note:**

> A Few Canon-divergences: 
> 
> 1\. Neil was on the run from his father and his father's men. Nathan was a Gang Lord. The Moriyama's and Yakuza were not involved. So, after Neil's uncle killed Nathan and Neil sold out his father's people to the FBI, he was genuinely free. His ass is not still owned by yakuza like it is in canon.  
> 2\. Exy exists in this AU, but;  
> 2.1. Andrew didn't keep playing after juvie.  
> 2.2. Due to the lack of Moriyama's, exy wasn't forced at Neil. Having spent years on the run, he didn't really keep track of sports extensively. Instead, he lost himself in other worlds and stories that weren't his own by reading.  
> 3\. Andrew has been off his drugs for a few months at this point and is learning to adjust.  
> 4\. They may seem slightly OOC at first, but that's circumstantial - due to Andrew not being drugged when he meets Neil and Neil being free already. He's still traumatized, but less so than canon since he was on the run from his dad's gang only and not the whole fucking mafia. Also, he's actually free now. He's not still owned or owing the mafia, like he is in canon, so that affects his character. I tried to adjust their character due to these different circumstances.  
> 5\. Andrew and Aaron are working on their relationship post-Drake and Andrew getting sober, even without Neil's influence.  
> 6\. Kevin is friends with the cousins since they all study at PSU, but Andrew and Kevin have no deal and they're not as close as canon YET since the cousin's aren't on the exy team.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First meeting.  
> King Fluffikins.

“Coffee,” the blonde-haired boy orders, “Black. Like my soul.”

The waiter smiled.

It was nearly 1 am in the crappy diner he worked the night shift at, and it was mostly empty. He’d been watching the other boy from the moment he pulled up outside in his very expensive car. A black Maserati driving around the quiet part of town during the devils hour? Suspicious. It was Neil’s job to pay attention to suspicious characters. He’d watched the boy get out of his car, stand outside for 10 minutes while leaning against his car and having a smoke, and just when Neil thought that watching this boy was getting boring, a cat strutted up to the boy. King Fluffikins, to be precise. Neil knew the cat well – she hated everyone except him because he fed her leftovers behind the diner from the kitchen entrance. He'd also named her.

Neil watched, intrigued, as the boy settled down on the cold cement ground and leaned against his car as King Fluffikins crawled onto his lap and rubbed her head under the boy’s chin. Blondie waited outside for another ten minutes, playing with the feline. Eventually he got cold enough to come in, settle down in the furthest, most isolated corner booth, and ordered nothing but a black coffee.

_Coffee, Black. Like my soul._

Neil nodded seriously, “a glass of milk, then” he smirked as the boy slowly looked up and scowled at him. Neil remained unmoved. It wasn’t that the boy didn’t look dangerous. Neil would probably feel intimidated by the boy – all black leather, expensive car, ripped jeans and biker boots – if he hadn’t spent the last ten minutes watching the boy endure the cold concrete to give a stray kitten a few minutes of affection. But Neil had watched him let the stray nibble on his long armbands and lick his chin and fingertips. He’d watched him tease the cat by moving around his shoelaces. This boy wasn’t vicious. Not without reason, at least. He wasn’t a monster, like he pretended to be.

Neil wanted to poke the bear - he never could resist an adventure.

The boy doesn’t respond but he casts a cool glance over Neil, landing on Neil’s icy blue eyes. His stare makes Neil slightly uncomfortable. Pins him in place. It had only been a few months since Neil had abandoned his brown eye contacts, hair dye and fake persona’s. Only a few months since he was legally Neil Josten. A few months since he no longer needs to worry about anyone seeing him, paying attention to him, knowing him. He no longer needs to squirm under the gaze of a mysterious stranger.

“Cute.” The boy scoffs eventually, his tone unimpressed.

“I thought so,” Neil shrugs.

The boy turns his attention back to the laptop in front of him and continues typing furiously, ignoring Neil deliberately.

Neil does, in fact, get the blonde stranger his coffee – but he’s a cheeky bastard so he accompanies them with a side of sugar biscuits.

“thanks,”

“oh, those weren’t for you,” Neil says casually as the boy takes a bite. He doesn’t receive verbal acknowledgement, but he does receive a very skillfully raised eyebrow. Neil shrugs. “The biscuits were for the cat. I assumed you’d stop by on your way out, you clearly enjoyed the first meeting,” Neil is on the receiving end of a glare that would be intimidating if he hadn’t just watched the other boy play with a kitten for ten minutes, “yeah, that’s right, I caught you having a soul,” Neil smirks.

“Stalked is more like it,” blonde stranger counters. “And just because it’s my first time meeting _you_ , doesn’t mean it’s my first meeting with _her_ ,”

“Oh?” The boy doesn’t bother with a response, but he pointedly takes another biscuit between his teeth and ignores Neil in favour of typing on his laptop. Neil is unphased. “I’m only on the nightshift on Friday’s and Saturday’s, classes start early on weekdays,” he unnecessarily explains.

“aha,” the boy comments noncommittedly.

Neil slides into the booth opposite the stranger. He’s not sure why he’s even bothering. Maybe it’s just because there’s three hours left to his shift, there’s no other customers and he’s bored. Or maybe it’s because for the first time in a long time Neil can actually allow himself to be noticed by other people. He’s not on the run. He doesn’t need to blend in. Maybe it’s because some messed up part deep in his mind misses the adventure of danger, and the boy in front of him looks like an adventure waiting to unravel. Or maybe…maybe it’s just the way his blonde hair falls into his hazel eyes and the fact that Neil finds his black nail polish rather pretty. “What’s your name?”

“Why?”

“Because I’m tired of referring to you as ‘blonde stranger’ in my head,”

“Stop thinking about me then,”

Neil leans back in the booth. He gets comfy. “Look,” Neil prompts, “you look like someone who came here to actually get some work done. And I’m known for running my mouth, so – you can tell me your name and I’ll leave you alone or you can keep ignoring me while I sit here and talk for the next three hours.”

“Or I could stab you,” The boy’s voice is nonchalant. Casual. He doesn’t seem to care one way or another. He’s not interested in conversation with Neil but he’s not annoyed by Neil’s talking either. He just doesn’t care. Neil isn’t used to this. He’s used to forcibly trying to stay under the radar. And in recent months when that was no longer necessary, he grew accustomed to being the centre of attention – sometimes in a good way on account of his eyes and cheekbones, and sometimes because the scars Nathan left on him terrifies the general public…but regardless, he’s rarely _ignored_. It’s not like the other boy didn’t notice him. He just doesn’t care enough to acknowledge him.

“I mean, you wouldn’t be the first person to try,” Neil eventually replies conversationally.

The boy does look over at that. He watches Neil’s scars with some delicacy. And just when Neil was expecting one of the responses he hates – disgust, fear, sympathy – the boy rolls his eyes. “Andrew. Now go away, Neil.”

Neil opens his mouth to ask how Andrew knew his name but is rewarded a look that very much says ‘you’re an idiot’ followed by Andrew dragging his glare towards Neil’s nametag.

He’s still getting used to being Neil, anyway.

“Thanks, Andrew,” Neil gives him a small smile and proceeds to the backroom.

He settles down in beanbag chair and pulls out his phone. One of the few safe havens Neil had indulged in during his years on the run was reading. Living on the run was lonely. He allowed himself to get close to no one and was punished if he ever tried. He hated his life and yet he spent every minute fighting to keep living it – it was all he knew how to do. He’s spent his life surviving , only recently had he tried _living_. No matter where he moved while he was on the run, something he could always find was a book - there was always a library near by that allowed him free access to limitless worlds. Stand alone books were his favourites (libraries rarely had all the books in a series, and he rarely stayed in one place long enough to read entire series’). Living on the run consisted of bouts of adrenaline, bulletshots and abuse. It consisted largely of waiting, though. And with waiting, came an interchangeable duration of anxiety and bordem. Distractions helped with both. And reading - losing himself in different universes and lives that weren’t his own – was Neil’s favourite pastime. Sometimes however, he found himself thinking about what the characters had left behind. What became of them when the story ended? When they beat their evil? What happened after the first kiss?

Recently – after Neil’s father died and he sold out his father’s men to the FBI – Neil’s life had become suspiciously mundane. His big evil was no more. Neil suddenly had very different concerns and priorities. He needed a place to live for longer than three weeks. He needed to feed himself actual food. He needed a job. He could probably use dental care and basic medical aid. Therapy, even. Neil felt like the protagonist of a book after the final page. He felt like his story was done and now he didn’t know how to…keep living. Living was an unexpectedly forgein concept for a man who spent his life surviving.

Neil’s moods alternated between bored, anxious and lonely, these days. One of the things that made him feel less alone, though, was fanfiction. He’d discovered it only recently when he bought his first socially acceptable phone, with his first paycheck. He’d been in bed one day googling questions about books he remembered loving when he read them. He didn’t remember details. He stumbled across fanfiction and it just spiralled from there. Neil read fanfiction every night, these days. It meant more to him than it probably did to most people.

Fanfiction gave the characters of fictional worlds a second chance, after their ‘The End’. It made him feel like just maybe, he could get a second chance too. He was no longer important. No longer a danger or in danger. No longer WANTED DoA or wanted in general, really. But fanfiction gave him hope that his story wasn’t over. Maybe now he could get to the good part.

And he had a favourite fanfiction author. WeLikeSandalwood on Ao3 (the fanfiction site) updated a new chapter every Friday night, and Neil spent the entire week waiting for it. It was the highlight of his week. He’d read an obsessive amount of fanfiction stories from varying authors, but this was his favourite. He adored all their stories, and he was never disappointed by their updates. And he _always_ commented.

Neil peeped back into the diner every twenty or so minutes to ensure that Andrew didn’t need him and to check if anyone else had entered – no one did. Afterwards he settled back into his beanbag and refreshed his email inbox, awaiting for WeLikeSandalwood to update chapter 21 of his current read.

“what’s taking so long,” Neil pouted. It was nearly 01:30 and updates were never this late.

Neil didn’t remember shutting his eyes, but before he knew it he was being jolsted awake by a husky voice – which was apparently closer to him than he thought. He startled awake and felt his head hit a solid surface. It hurt. Before he could register it, he heard someone else curse. Neil opened his eyes to find Andrew holding his nose and scowling at Neil with watering eyes.

“what happened?” he asks, groggily.

“You headbutted me!” Andrew berated.

“I mean, yeah – why are you in here though,”

“I need to pay you for the coffee to leave but you hadn’t come out in an hour”

“what? –” Neil checks the time on his phone. 3am. Well, shit. “ – oh, wow sorry, this never happens”

“the unprofessionalism or the assault?”

“both,” Neil sighed, “coffee is on the house. And – if you happen to come in during my shift tomorrow night, whatever you order will be on the house too. Sorry,” Neil says sheepishly.

Andrew observes him for a moment in silence. When he finally speaks, it’s not at all what Neil expected him to say. “Is the black cat outside a stray?”

She's obviously a stray but it’s so late and Neil is so sleepy he’s uncertain if this conversation is really happening or not.

“What?”

“The cat, the one you gave me the biscuits for – she doesn’t have an owner, right?”

“n – no…she’s the diner alley cat. We…feed her scraps – why?” Neil’s voice get’s softer.

Andrew shrugs, “She deserves better than scraps and uncertain meals,”

“King Fluffikins is a survivor,” Neil takes offense. He’d found a certain level of kinship with the feline recently.

Andrew arches a brow. “King…fluffikins?”

Neil nods confidently. “named her myself,”

Andrew’s responding expression is a peculiar one. He doesn’t laugh – he doesn’t really seem the type who laughs at all – but he doesn’t seem to be outright judging Neil’s cat-naming skills either. Neil can’t quite pin down his expression.

“Aha, well I want to adopt her.”

That is not what Neil expected at all. He was getting nervous – thinking Andrew was going to take her to the pound or animal shelter where, sure she’ll be fed, but if she isn’t adopted she might spend the rest of her life alone in a cage. Lonely. And it’s not like she’s lonely now. She’s a survivor. She’s a hunter. And Neil always feeds her whenever he’s on a shift. He suspects he’s not the only diner employee who does. The prospect of Andrew adopting her is an unforeseen game changer and the thing is, Neil has no idea how he feels about it. It would be better for her, sure. Andrew seems good with cats. She’d have a home and probably consistent meals. She deserves to be adopted. Why did Neil never consider actually adopting her? He doesn’t know. He’s been feeding her for months. He’s even engaged in the occasional conversation with her. But it never occurred to him to take her back to his apartment, put a collar on her and actually buy some cat food.

And King Fluffikins deserves a goddamn collar.

Neil is belatedly disappointed in himself. He sighs. Who is he to tell Andrew he can’t adopt her? He should have adopted her then. If you like it then you should have put a collar on it – or something – Neil is still learning pop culture references.

Neil casts his glance downwards, “yeah, she’s a stray,” he concedes. His voice far softer than it was previously.

Andrew takes two silent steps towards Neil and lifts his hand to Neils face – he doesn’t touch. His hand just floats in limbo, centimeters from Neil’s chin. Like he wants to touch but he’s awaiting permission. After a second thought he changes his mind and lowers his hand, but he’s still intimately close to Neil’s body.

This moment. Two boys in a dark backroom in an empty diner in the dead of night. Close – but silent. It feels far more intimate than it probably should considering they’re discussing the possibility of cat adoption.

“So is that a yes?”

Neil drags his gaze from Andrew’s boot buckles up his body to the brown eyes staring him down. “A yes?”

“Can I adopt her?”

Neil shrugs, and turns around. He faces the wall. He looks at the ground. He doesn’t look at Andrew.

“it’s not my call. She hangs out here because I feed her but I didn’t adopt her so it’s not like I have any say in the matter,”

“but you’d miss her,” Andrew replies simply.

“Obviously,” Neil rolls his eyes as he swings back around to stare the shorter man down. It’s rare for Neil to be the taller person unless the comparison is a literal child or extreme elderly. He likes the feeling of being taller than Andrew – he can’t say why.

“I’m not here to steal your cat, Neil,” Andrew points out. Andrew did it again; he said Neil’s name and it made Neil feel … an unexplainable way. Andrew continues, “I just want to help a stray. She deserves consistent meals and medical check-up’s”

“I agree,”

“but you’ll miss her and she’ll miss you too,”

“yes and up for assumption,”

“you could always come visit her,”

Neil raises an eyebrow and Andrew shrugs. “now are you coming to hep her move out or not,”

“I’m on the clock,” The look Andrew gives Neil is utterly unimpressed. The diner is literally empty. Neil sighs. “it’s a 24hr diner, I can’t just lock up and leave, I need to wait for the next person to come in, in an hour, and then I can take off,”

“that’s too bad,” Andrew says over his shoulder as he walks away, through the kitchen towards the back exit – where he technically doesn’t have access to, but Neil’s not complaining.

Neil hurries to keep up.

“where is she?” Andrew asks once they get outside.

“Around here somewhere. always here, not always in sight – do you know how to actually take care of a cat?”

“I certainly can’t do worse than the life she’s living as a _stray_ ”

“Well she’s used to it here, the diner is her home. She knows us. She hunts for food – she brought me a dead mouse once! I guess since I always bring her treats she decided to bring me one in return. Deposited the dead guy at my feet, it as disgusting but strangely the nicest thing anyones ever done for me – and you want to take her away”

“I don’t want to take her to the pound, Neil, I want to adopt her, you don’t seem to be grasping the concept – and I get that you’ll miss her, if you want I’ll adopt you too!”

Andrew was obviously just being a drama queen, but Neil feels his cheeks redden.

Andrew sighs. “you can always come visit her. I meant it.”

“I’m just worried about her is all. I bonded with her and it feels like I’m just…handing her over to a stranger!”

“I do know how to take care of cats, to answer your question. I already have one. But he’s lonely so I had meant to adopt another from the shelter anyway, I just thought this made more sense, did more good,”

Neil is surprised. His gut was right – he’d taken one look at this boy and felt a sense of adventure. He was right.

He doesn’t say anything but he disappears into the kitchen and comes back with a sugar biscuit.

“I wasn’t kidding, she actually loves these things,”

After a few minutes of cat-calling (literally) and carefully placed sugar biscuits, King decides to join them. After nibbling, she walks over to Neil and starts running in eights between his legs. Andrew bends down and picks her up – she doesn’t scratch him. she doesn’t particular lick him but she does seem pretty confused, maybe mildly offended.

Andrew holds her carefully against his chest and walks over to his masarati and deposits her inside.

“you coming?” he calls over his shoulder

“my shifts not over” Neil calls back.

Andrew stalls. “visit her tomorrow, then. I’m not taking her from her friends by force.”

Neil smirks. “tomorrow, then.”

“what time is your shift?”

“10 to 4”

Andrew nods, “pick you up at 9?”

“from here?”

“or your apartment – where do you stay?”

“it’s near here, you can just pick me up from here. I need to be back here on time though, I don’t know how far away you stay,”

“near.”

Andrew settles into the drivers seat and reverses out of the diner parking lot. King is walking in circles around the passanger seat, probably confused by the concept of motor travel.

“Hey, girl,” he reaches over to scratch above her tail with his free hand.

When he reaches home he carries her up several flights of stairs with his laptop bag slung across his body, towards his apartment. Sir is likely waiting on the other side of the door – Andrew’s door always gives him some trouble when he’s unlocking it and requires him to jiggle around the key a bit. The noise is enough to attract Sir to the door. When he opens the door Sir all but climbs up his leg and King meow’s at him repeatedly. She seems to be on some sort of tantrum – she’s saying a lot. Andrew’s not sure if it’s bad exactly but at least there’s no hissing. He places her atop one of Sir’s climbing contraptions to hopefully get the point across – share. He fills two small bowls of catfood (never mind that Sir already ate) and two bowls of water. King attacks it immediately like it might get taken away, Sir instead opts to follow Andrew around, meowing loudly. Demanding attention and probably an explanation.

Andrew’s phone beeps a notification. It’s an email indicating a comment on the chapter he just posted tonight for of his current work in progress. He’d just barely posted it an hour ago and it was a long chapter – he takes all week to write a chapter – no could have finished reading already, especially considering the hour he posted.

He recognizes the user name – a frequent.

> **Fanboy99** commented on chapter 21
> 
> _Well it’s about damn time._

He smiles to himself.

> **WeLikeSandalwood** replied to **Fanboy99**
> 
> _I’m so sorry about my incompetence._


	2. I'm no Shakespeare but your eyes are very blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a bunch of book references in this chapter - unavoidable since Andrew is a fanfiction author and Neil is a fanboy. 
> 
> All the books referenced are real books, though, so if you recognise any titles - that's fun. 
> 
> If you don't recognise the books they're fanboying over - that's fine too, it doesn't effect the storyline, but maybe you can consider them as book recommendations? 
> 
> Andrew is specifically a fanfiction author for The Mortal Instruments by Cassandra Clare and he writes Malec Fanfiction (Magnus Bane x Alec Lightwood).  
> You don't really need to understand the references to read this fic, though.

**Saturday**

* * *

> ** Welikesandalwood**

> _Blue. Blue is my favorite color, my favorite hue. And yet it be not because of the morning sky or tidal waves, but because of you._
> 
> _Is it too forward to say that your eyes are my favorite color or is it just chival enough? – it’s not entirely false, although what I never say is that it is my favorite color because it’s the color of your eyes._
> 
> _Can I say that when I close my own eyes lately, all I can think of are yours? Is that uncouth? But I promise it’s the truth._

* * *

“But his eyes are such an unusual shade of blue,” Andrew confides in Sir.

Sir looks at Andrew with understanding.

Andrew is no Shakespeare, but if next week’s chapter is slightly more romantic than usual, and if his protagonist spends three paragraphs sprouting poetic about the mesmerizing blue of their lover’s eyes, and if Andrew just _happens_ to be picturing _Neil’s eyes_ as he types these sonnets – well, no one needs to know. 

Andrew needs to reel himself in – he needs to give himself a reality check. Heck – he needs a whole damn intervention. You can’t just meet handsome scarred strangers at 1 am and then invite them into your home. He could be an axe murderer.

Of course, Andrew only invited the mysterious boy for King, not for himself.

He’d just seemed so _sad_ , so heartbroken when Andrew suggested that he would adopt King. He didn’t understand why Neil didn’t just adopt her, himself if they had a bond. but regardless, he didn’t know Neil’s story any more than he’d want people assuming his own.

And if King would miss Neil too, then it’s good he invited Neil over. He trusted Kings judge of character.

And it's not like this is a date. It's not like this _means_ anything. Really, this is just a public service – because Andrew is such a reformed guy these days, with his therapy sessions and whatnot, that he casually supplies acts of kindness to felines and hot waiter boys in the dead of night. Bee would probably be proud, after being properly concerned.

Andrew replies to a few comments and checks his email in case any of the fanfics _he_ is subscribed to have updated – one has – he’ll read that tonight.

A cause for more immediate concern – how does one appropriately dress for a not-date?

His Edens clothes are probably too much. He doesn’t want to seem like he’s _trying_. Trying to what? He’s merely trying to not get in the way of a kitten and her barista boy.

The kitten in question has been settling into his dorm room comfortably. Andrew was lucky enough to have the dorm to himself (he’d scared off his suitemate and never got another one), so there was plenty of room for two cats and a not-very-big Andrew. Andrew had already been well equipped to welcome a new cat into his home. His only concern was that Sir might bully her since he was larger and saw the apartment – and Andrew – as his territory.

Turns out; Sir may be large, but King has been living on the streets long enough to stand her own - _she_ bullies _Sir_. King has the personality and temper of a mafia cat. Still an issue, but a controllable one.

Andrew decided that his daily uniform would be enough. Changing would be ridiculous, he refuses to be _that guy_. Neil had already seen him in his daily-wear the previous night, and not really given a shit – not that Neil appears to have any sense of style at all. Neil’s aesthetic influence is clearly not intentional.

Instead of dressing up and thinking about the aesthetic merits of Neil’s profile, Andrew decided to clean up around the apartment – why is there even a pair of boxers on the bookshelf? Are they at least _clean_ boxers? He needs to do laundry.

He neatens the common room, bathroom and kitchen, tossing the odd items into his bedroom (Neil is _not_ going in _there_ ) and heads out to fetch Neil from the diner.

* * *

Neil had half expected the mysterious stranger from the previous night to not show up at all. He’d taken Neil’s cat, and now he was gone forever. The good news was that Neil wouldn’t need to give away any free food in compensation for falling asleep mid-shift last night. The bad news is that he’d had to spend his entire day emotionally preparing himself to never see King again.

He hadn’t expected himself to get that attached to the feline. He’d never had a pet – or any tenderness at all for that matter. Maybe that’s why it never occurred to Neil to take King in. He was used to never allowing himself to get close to anyone, or attached to anything – sentimentality slowed you down, it made you vulnerable.

If Neil was presented with a risk while he was at work and had to drop everything and run, Neil could do that. His apartment had a monthly lease, no personal furniture, and a duffle bag of ratty clothes. He hadn’t even bothered emptying out the bag. All he’d need to go back for would be his money stash, but if he absolutely couldn’t go back to the apartment, he had money stashed in various places across the state and the country. If Neil had a cat waiting for him at home, his options would be to either abandon it alone in his apartment for an undetermined length of time or go back for it and put himself at risk.

But Neil wasn’t on the run anymore. Nathan was dead – fucking finally. Neil had got every significant member of the Butcher’s gang arrested, and the few who had either gotten away or Neil couldn’t recall, weren’t dangerous enough to be a threat to Neil on their own.

The point is; Neil is at a point in his life where he could get a cat. It just never occurred to him.

It’s precisely 9 pm when the sleek black car purrs up next to Neil as he waits outside the Diner – it’s a surprise even though he’d awaiting it. Neil hears the car doors unlock, but Andrew doesn’t make to get out or cut the engine. He’s idling. Waiting. Neil gets in the passengers' seat without preamble.

Neil doesn’t say anything – what should he say? Should he even be here? You don’t just meet rich, attractive strangers at 1 am and agree to go home with them. Is this safe? This probably isn’t safe. But it’s not like Neil has lived his life thus far on the basis of safety. He’s survived the Butcher of Baltimore – he can survive Andrew.

Andrew doesn’t bother speaking, and the silence between them is more comfortable than Neil had expected.

“staring,” Andrew comments after a few minutes as they pull into a dark undercover parking lot. A fleeting thought occurs to Neil that he might die here. It wouldn’t be his first dance with death – he finds himself more intrigued than afraid.

“intriguing.” Neil counters.

Andrew glares at Neil, and there’s just enough exasperation in the look to make Neil smile. That’s probably weird, but there’s pure effort invested in Andrew’s glares – a contrast to his more common nonchalance. Neil would rather be effort-inducing, even if it’s annoyance than just be _meh_.

The walk up the few flights of stairs is quiet but welcome. They pass the elevators a few times – Neil notices that it never occurs to Andrew to take it, despite the fact that he seems annoyed by the stairs and mildly out of breath, but he doesn’t ask why.

They pause at a third-floor apartment door. Andrew struggles with the keys for a few seconds before he opens the door and gestures for Neil to enter before him. The first thing that Neil registers is insistent meowing. Two cats – king and a larger, grey cat – meow at him passionately.

Neil cautiously walks into the cosy apartment and looks around. It doesn’t look like it belongs to an axe murderer, which is reassuring.

“Can I get you anything?” Andrew offers. Just like the previous night, he’s dressed in subtle but attractive clothing. His black skinny jeans are ripped at the knees, and his leather jacket has been replaced with a softer but just as brooding black hoodie.

His demeanour hardly screams ‘cat lover’, but Neil has seen him with King and knows better than to judge a bad boy by his cover.

“No thanks, literally coming from a diner,” Neil smirks at Andrew who rolls his eyes.

King ran to Neil as soon as he’d walked in, meowing affectionately.

Sir was running in 8’s between Andrew’s feet.

“She’s been settling in comfortably,” Andrew provides. “I took her to the vet earlier today. She’s a bit malnourished, so they gave me a medicinal binding agent to mix into her food – and she can’t eat Sir’s food yet, so I bought her kitten food. Then we went and got her her own bed, collar and a food and water bowl.”

Neil nods at Andrew, but words evade him. He’s relieved. After Andrew had left, he'd realised that he’d entrusted a random stranger with the cat’s life, which was probably irresponsible on his part. He was happy that she was happy and healthy and well taken care of here - happy that Andrew seemed to know what he was doing, for the most part. But he couldn’t help the sinking feeling in his stomach, either. King didn’t need him. Why would she miss the kitchen scraps he’d given her when Andrew bought her cat food? Why would she miss Neil’s companionship when Andrew not only catered for her every need but also introduced her to another feline friend. It had never even occurred to Neil to bring her _water_. How could he forget that?

Neil had always thought he was good for King, that he made a difference in her life. Turns out, he was never even doing the bare minimum.

She deserved Andrew, and Neil had never deserved her.

When it was clear that Neil wasn’t going to reply, Andrew continued. “I was concerned about how Sir would interact with her – he’s not particularly vicious, but you never really know how animals will react if they feel that their territory is being impinged on. But luckily – he doesn’t seem to care, and she’s tougher than she looks. She’s been bossing him around since she got here,”

Neil blinked away the irrational sentiment. “that’s good,” he tried to sound sincere, “I’m glad she fits into your life. Thank you for taking care of her, I should head off.”

Neil tried his best to ignore the way King was scratching at his jeans, trying to climb up his leg. He didn’t bend down to pet her – he didn’t trust himself to leave with his dignity (and without her) if he did.

Andrew considered him thoughtfully.

“Alright … when would you like to come over again, then? Preferably when you have time to spend with her. Just let me know, I’ll fetch you. Or I guess you know where my place is so you can just stop by – ”

Neil cut him off, “I don’t understand what you’re getting at,” he snapped.

Andrew raised an eyebrow at him. “I don’t understand what’s going on at all.”

“What do you mean come back? Why would I come back?”

Andrew raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I just assumed you’d want to come hang out with King? – I mean it’s not like you’re obligated, or anything… you just seemed to have bonded with her, so I thought you wanted to ..., and she clearly missed you,” Andrew gestured to King who was now rubbing her head against Neil’s ankles.

Neil narrows his eyes at Andrew, “You’d let me still see her even though she’s yours now?”

“The fuck do you think I’m doing right now?” Andrew exasperatedly shouted.

“Proving that you didn’t just … kidnap her? I assumed this was your way of showing me that she’s fine so I don’t need to worry about her – or feel guilty about permissing you to take her…”

“you are a very suspicious person, did you know that?”

Neil just shrugs. Being suspicious kept him alive this long. “I just didn’t think you’d let me see her unnecessarily,”

“Okay, firstly she’s not _mine_. I don’t _own_ her. She is her own feline – she merely lives with me. She’s my foster cat – and if all works out maybe I’ll adopt her, but I don’t _own_ her, I wouldn’t take away her _friends_. what kind of _monster_ do you think I am?” Andrew demands.

Now that Neil was done relishing in self-pity, he could once again give the blonde some attitude. He crossed his arms over his chest and tapped his chin in mock thought.

“hmm. If you had to be a monster, I’d vote the cookie monster.”

Neil ducked – barely missing the book Andrew had just thrown at his head.

_City of Fallen Angles._

One of Neil’s favourites.

Neil carefully picked the book up – as if it hadn’t just been thrown at him – and inspected the cover in awe.

The Shadowhunters Chronicles is one of Neil’s favourites. He’d gotten into the Shadowhunter world by The Mortal Instruments series (the chronicles consisted of multiple complex and interlapping series’. Once you were in the world, there was no out.) where he’d read book number 3 (the book prior to the one currently in his hands.) entirely without context, from a local library while he was on the run. He didn’t understand absolutely anything since he’d started a complex universe on the third book, but after a few chapters, he was hooked. He’d read the six-book series completely out of order, and he’d read the first book in the series dead last, but he’d fallen in love with the characters regardless.

He’d never actually met anyone else who’d indulged in the Shadow world. He’d always wanted to discuss the characters and ships and make book references… the way people do with more popular books like _Harry Potter_.

Neil had never read any of the Harry Potter books – or watched the movies – but even _he_ knew that if anyone asked him what his Hogwarts house was, the respectable answers were either Gryffindor or Slytherin. Survival facts when trying to blend in.

He stopped staring at the book to stare at the boy in front of him. Andrew didn’t look like a bookworm at all – let alone one to read modern-day high-fantasy fiction. But, after closer inspection, Neil realized that Andrew’s apartment was indeed overflowing with books. 

The reasonably sized bookshelf by the large window was full of neatly stacked books. There seemed to be some order to them – their spines were facing Neil so he could read off the titles.

There was plenty of Cassandra Clare – the author of the Shadowhunter Chronicles – including books from other series’ within the chronicles, not only The Mortal Instruments. That’s the true sign of a bookworm – have they only read the popular books in a Chronicles or have they read them all?

The coffee-table next to the couch held a few books neatly stacked – authors Neil recognized including Rainbow Rowell, Casey Mcquiston and Holly Black.

SJ Maas was being used as a paperweight on Andrew’s study table, and Margaret Stohl & Kami Garcia were stacked on the nightstand next to the messy bed – Andrew’s bedroom door was open.

Neil hadn’t noticed it when he’d walked in because he was spiralling about King and what he was even doing here – but this apartment belonged to a reader. And not a classic literature reader, no, a modern-day fantasy series reader.

Neil handed Andrew back the book in his hands. “you like to read?” he prompted.

Andrew shrugged it off, but he took the book back. “I guess. I don’t read just anything though – it has to hold my interest.”

This made Neil smile. Too often do people consider bookworms as those who indulge exclusively in Shakespeare and Edgar Allen Poe.

He could be a reader if he enjoyed authors who are still alive, too.

So what if he hadn’t read Wuthering Heights? He’d got all the info he needed from the references made in Twilight. Bella had read it enough times for the both of them. So what if he hadn’t read A tale of two cities? Will and Tessa had named a whole child after the main character, in The Infernal Devices, and he’d read about _them_.

Neil loved reading, but he didn’t want to discuss 18th-century literature. He wanted to discuss sword fights and proud queer couples and books making book references because fuck the fourth wall.

He nodded at Andrew, trying very hard to control his smile. “Who’s your favourite author?”

Andrew raised an eyebrow at Neil. Neil wanted to talk about books? Neil reads?

Neil _knows how_ to read?

“depends on my mood,”

Neil considers this. Nods. “Who’s your favourite author _today_?”

Andrew is quiet for a moment. He’s caught off guard. Then, he narrows his eyes. “Josh hunter,”

Neil raises his eyebrows, humour present on his features, “he writes sports erotica.”

It’s not a question. It’s not even an accusation.

“you knew that?” Andrew seems genuinely surprised.

Neil guffaws. “was I not supposed to? – I read.”

“who’s _your_ favourite, then,” Andrew asks accusingly.

“Today?” Neil replies, “Nora Sakavic,”

Andrew nods his support. “Brilliant woman. Mine is Cassie, today,” Andrew gestures towards the Cassandra Clare book in his hand.

“She’s one of my favourites too,” Neil smiles. “actually – that book is one of my favourites. Have you read many of her works.”

“everything.” Andrew automatically responds. “well, everything in the Shadowhunter Chronicles. I haven’t read her children's books,”

Neil nods, “ditto. I’ve read most of the chronicles except a few of the special editions, - who’s your favourite character?”

* * *

Neil and Andrew spend their afternoon this way. Andrew’s couch isn’t the most spacious – but they aren’t the biggest, and they’re engrossed in each other. They sit cross-legged on opposite ends of the couch, talking over each other, indulging in favourite authors and books and ships. The rare book they didn’t like from their favourite author. Their favourite quotes – Neil realizes that Andrew has an amazing memory; he rattles off chunks of accurate (or at least Neil is fairly sure it's accurate, his memory isn’t that perfect) quotes from books at will, unprepared.

At some point during their fanboy freakout, King and Sir join them on the couch, lying on their backs and waiting to be scratched. Andrew and Neil hardly notice – too wrapped up in each other.

They’re still sharing book recommendations when Neil realizes that it’s about time he heads back to the diner. His shift is about to start.

He doesn’t miss the moment of reluctance in Andrew's eyes before he offers to drive Neil back and gets up to slip his boots back on.

“before you go, can I share one of my recommendations with you?” Andrew asks. “maybe you can start it tonight if your shift is as boring as yesterday, here,” he hands Neil a book called ‘Running with Lions’. A group of kids – sports kids by the looks of it – peer down at him on the cover page.

“the synopsis tells you, like, fuckall but it’s a really exciting book,” Andrew promises. “I just feel like you’ll like it if you like Sakavic,” he explains.

Neil genuinely smiles. “I do, and thank you, I will start it today. I want to give you a recommendation too, though…I don’t have hardcopies, I generally either read ebooks or go to the library,”

“give me a name, and I’ll read it,”

“oh! Uhm… at the top of my head? …” Neil rattles off a title of the most recent book his read – it’s all he can remember right now, even though he’s always reading. At that moment, his mind is just providing him with suggestions of endless Fanfiction stories he knows Andrew will love, especially WeLikeSandalwood’s stories since Andrew loves Cassandra Clare.

But can you do that, in society? Can Neil recommend fanfiction?

Or is fanfiction the type of thing you do but don’t tell people you do?

He’s never heard people actually discuss fanfiction even though he’s seen plenty of people represent their preferred fandoms and even talk about books at the library.

Someone is writing this stuff, and many someones are reading it – there must be other people out there who read this stuff.

Is it just one of those things that everyone does but should never be mentioned?

Like masturbating?

Is reading fanfiction the geek equivalent of masturbating?

Neil should not be thinking about masturbating while standing in front of Andrew.

Andrew agrees to read the book Neil recommended – Simon vs the Homosapiens Agenda – and they leave for the diner.

Andrew brings his laptop bag with, and he hangs out at the diner for a few hours. Andrew seems engrossed in whatever he’s violently typing away at. If it’s an assignment or homework or a university report then Andrew must really know his stuff – he’s not looked away from the screen to check anything else in over a half-hour, but he’s been typing the entire time.

Neil wants to ask Andrew what he’s busy with, but he doesn’t want to be a disturbance, and he actually _is_ enjoying this book – it's cute – so he settles across from Andrew on the same booth and reads while Andrew types away.

Only a few customers disturb them, and soon, Andrew leaves about an hour before Neil’s shift ends. They don’t make plans to see each other again, but Neil has Andrew’s book, and Andrew knows Neil is working on Friday and Saturday.

Neil also knows where Andrew lives and has an open-ended invitation to come over whenever he wants to see King. And talk about books, Neil hopes.

And just talk to Andrew in general, Neil wonders.

They’ve only just met, but Neil feels calmer alone with Andrew in his apartment, or in an empty diner booth in the dead of night, than he can remember ever feeling.

Is it Andrew, or is this just a side effect of not being in consistent grave danger, anymore?

Either way, this feels like the start of something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fuck the fourth wall


	3. Don't Leave Me Alone With All That's On My Mind.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More books, and some introspection regarding Neil's anxiety from his life on the run (from his father's gang - not the mafia)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter makes references to 'Running with Lions' & 'Simon vs the Homo Sapiens Agenda' (because these are the books that Andrew and Neil recommended to each other at the end of chapter 2.)
> 
> Also detailed character analysis/references to the Shadowhunter chronicles (because it is the books that Andrew writes fanfiction about, and Neil reads fanfiction about)
> 
> YOU DON'T NEED TO HAVE READ THESE BOOKS, OR GET THE REFERENCES TO UNDERSTAND THIS STORY, THOUGH.

A week after they exchanged book recommendations, Andrew and Neil found themselves back at the diner in the dead of night discussing their feelings and opinions regarding their allocated books.

Neil returned to Andrew his copy of ‘ _Running with Lions’,_ and Andrew explained that he had returned the copy of ‘ _Simon vs the Homo sapiens Agenda’_ that he had borrowed back to their local library.

On Friday night, Andrew hung out in his corner booth, vigorously typing away on his laptop as Neil attended to customers. Only when it was late enough that the 24-hour diner was deserted did Andrew abandon his computer to follow Neil around and ask him questions about the book while he tended to housekeeping duties.

The boys found a pattern between them. Andrew rarely offered up information without being asked, but he ensured that he only asked questions that he was ready to answer himself. He preferred to listen to Neil talk instead of speaking himself, but he answered Neil’s questions truthfully. They took turns asking each other questions, and if one of them shared a truth, the other did the same – things stayed equal.

Neither had ever connected with another human so comfortably before. They didn’t discuss much beyond literature, so some would argue that they hardly knew each other at all, but they also knew the little, tiny pieces of each other that other people never knew.

Neil didn’t know if Andrew had a middle name, but he knew that Andrew could accurately and spontaneously quote his favourite chunks of literature at will. Andrew didn’t know what caused the scars on Neil’s face and hands, but he figured that Neil had genuine daddy issues, owing to his general (and probably unintentional) dislike of every paternal figure in every book they’ve discussed thus far – even the father’s who were meant to be good. Neil had gone on a twenty-minute rant about how Robert Lightwood (father of Alec Lightwood in the Shadowhunter chronicles) deserved his death scene and did not, in fact, deserve his mourning.

Neither of them had confirmed their sexuality, but they both at least understood that neither of them was homophobic, owing to their book choices.

Both boys figured that the other was – like them – a lowkey, private person, by the way, they cringed at the grand romantic gestures concluding both their recommended books. They agreed on this and ended up discussing their own, perfect endings to how they feel the books should have ended.

It was strange, in a way. To not know a person’s identity but to understand their mind and heart. To not know their coffee order, but know who they’d go back for in a zombie apocalypse.

 _How do I ask him what his surname is_ , Andrew thinks to himself, _when I’ve already told him how I cried when the orphan boy lost his makeshift foster family – even after he turned down his birth father’s offer of companionship for theirs – because his birth father was evil and his foster family didn’t trust him to pave his own way._

 _How do I tell him that although I love listening to him talk about books_ , Neil wonders distractedly, _I also spent the entirety of last week wondering what he could possibly be spending all his time typing, in his little corner booth – will he tell me about himself, too?_

“I just think he deserved better,” Andrew says now. He’s sitting up on the counter with a bowl of free ice-cream on his lap. He’s swinging his boot-and-buckled legs back and forth (they don’t touch the ground), while Neil tally’s up the cash in the register to match the sales he made during his shift.

It’s now Saturday night – or early Sunday morning, technically – unlike yesterday, Andrew didn’t return home. Andrew decided to stay through Neil’s shift.

“I mean, to be fair, he was an arsehole.” Neil counters. Neil gave up expecting Andrew to go home roughly two hours ago, and at this point, has accepted that Andrew is probably moving into the diner.

“sure, but it’s the upbringing. He was brought up by a dictator. He never knew love or affection. It’s what he was bred in,” Andrew insists.

“He murdered people,”

“because its what his murderer father taught him,”

“who also received a death sentence, so, equality,”

Andrew is quiet for a beat – he’s considering the circumstance. Neil likes when he does this, he realizes. They’re merely discussing their contrasting opinions on character analysis, but Andrew puts thought behind his responses and motivation behind his reasoning. Like everything, he takes this seriously.

He cares about this, although he acts like he cares about nothing.

“I just think that he’d have stood a better chance at life had he been brought up with more care. His father was a mass murderer; he never really stood a chance – and before you know it, he’s the main villain in the entire book. He’s not being judged on who he is; he’s being judged on who Valentine carved him out to be.” Andrew concludes his controversial character analysis on Sebastian Morgenstern from The Mortal Instruments.

“Point made – although you can be raised by a murderer and still recognize that murder is bad. We aren’t our parents or who we’re carved out to be. Fuck what you’re bred in; we make our own way. I’m not saying the trauma didn’t fuck him up. Also, he’s part fucking demon, which we seem to be forgetting – but I also think that he’s not blameless. You can be bred in corruption and make decisions to be a better human, like Magnus, or you can be bred in love and make decisions to be an arsehole, like Valentine.” Neil takes a deep breath and then turns his attention back to the cash register.

Andrew is quiet as he observes Neil with an unidentifiable emotion – something akin to awe or respect. Maybe even appreciation.

He’s saved from a verbal response as Matt Boyd struts into the diner – his general presence demanding attention, as usual. Matt freezes mid-strut when his eyes land on Andrew.

“oh,” he nervously chuckles, “Hey, Monster,”

Matt is cautious, Neil is puzzled by Matt’s idea of a greeting, and Andrew is violently uninterested.

Andrew turns to Matt in response, gives him a bored (but slow) once over, and then wordlessly turns his attention back to Neil.

Weird.

Matt recovers with puppy-like elasticity, pulling Neil into a tight hug as he starts talking about his weekend thus far. Neil is only vaguely paying attention – he’s more concerned by the fact that Andrew (once he realized that Matt would be staying indefinitely) has hopped off the counter and is currently packing his belongings to leave. It’s clear to Neil that Andrew and Matt know each other, and it’s also become evident that Andrew isn’t as comfortable in Matt’s presence as he apparently is in Neil’s.

That strikes Neil as odd because Matt is definitely, far more approachable and humane than himself, and Matt is his best friend – he knows there’s no reason to be concerned – but Neil can virtually see Andrew’s walls coming back up.

He needs to make a quick decision about how he handles this. He either hangs back with Matt or leaves with Andrew – Matt would understand (Neil’s shift is up anyway). It’s a simple thing, but the decision feels far more pivotal than the situation probably demands.

Andrew had spent the entire night at the diner, long after he’d finished his work. Come to think of it, Andrew only really paid attention to his laptop last night when there were customers for Neil to attend to. Andrew had waited for Neil’s shift to end, although neither would articulate it that way. And now Andrew doesn’t want to be here anymore, and Neil won’t see him until next week, Friday _maybe_.

“Andrew?” Neil calls as Andrew walks towards the door, “Can you give me a ride home?”

Matt gives Neil an odd look; he’s offered Neil lifts home from the diner on multiple occasions, and the answer was always ‘no’. Andrew considers Neil for a moment. Silently. His eyes travel to Matt and then back to Neil. He’s considering. He sees through Neil. Seeing the choice, he’s making.

He doesn’t say anything, he hasn’t said a word since Matt got here, but he allows Neil a curt nod and then turns and leaves. Matt gives Neil a concerned look but doesn’t stop him as he grabs his belongings from the back room and jogs to the Maserati.

“where’s your place?” Neil is asked as he fastens his seatbelt.

The Maserati purrs to life as Andrew twists the key in the ignition. Neil feels the subtle but powerful rumble of the engine – a beast.

“Actually…”

Andrew raises an eyebrow at Neil as he reverses out of the lot.

“… did you have any plans for today?” Neil asks.

“I was going to sleep,” Andrew says plainly.

Neil feels like an idiot. He slept last afternoon in preparation for a night shift, but Andrew should have left hours ago.

“Oh,” he tries to mask his disappointment, “of course, sorry, nevermind,”

“What did you want to say?” Andrew asks

“It was stupid,” Neil dismisses

“as are you – what did you want to say?” Andrew insists

“I was going to ask if I could come and visit King… I forgot that you might be tired – that normal people need sleep,” Neil says bitterly; he’s doing a bad job at blending in, again.

“robot or alien?” Andrew asks offhandedly

Neil looks at Andrew dubiously.

“you said _normal_ _people_ need to sleep, effectively assuming that you are not _people_ and hence, do not need sleep, so I ask again – robot or alien?”

Neil smothers his humour. “I didn’t mean that I’m not a person – just that I’m not normal,”

“getting all high and mighty on me?”

“belatedly remembering that the average human – such as yourself – probably gets more than four hours of sleep every night,”

Andrew dramatically gasps. “Average? – you wound me, Neil,”

Neil smiles at the way his name – however new it may be to him – rolls of Andrew’s tongue. He’s still getting used to being Neil Josten, but he thinks he can stick with it if Andrew keeps saying his name like that.

“I was referring not to your beauty sleep – which you clearly invest in,” Neil gives Andrew a lingering once over. Andrew nods appreciatively. “ – but to your sleeping patterns. Which, to be honest, makes me wonder why you’re at the diner all night anyway,”

Andrew shrugs as he changes gears at a four-way-stop. “Inspiration hits when it does. I am nothing if not a vessel dictated by passion,” he says casually.

Neil’s eyebrows reach his hairline in excitement. “Passion? – are you saying that you spend all those hours typing away at your laptop, writing?”

“Settle down, junkie, you’re not reading it,”

Andrew is faced with the menace of Neil’s puppy-dog-eyes. “c’mon Andrew, Please?” he pouts.

Andrew’s grip on the steering tightens. “I do not like that word.” His voice is gravelly when he speaks. Carefully controlled. Robotic. Void.

Neil doesn’t like it.

“I won’t repeat it,” he promises immediately. Softly. Apologetically.

Neil tries again when he realizes that Andrew doesn’t intend to further contribute to the conversation.

“I understand if you don’t want anyone reading your work. But…I do want to read it if you ever change your mind.”

Andrew nods, and Neil decides to leave it there. They’re at Andrew’s apartment building within a few minutes.

“You needed to sleep,” Neil reminds.

“I will. But you can see her first. While I’m in the shower.”

`Neil nods gratefully, and they climb out of the Maserati into the building. They take the creaky stairs instead of the elevator again. Neil expects it this time and doesn’t comment again.

The meowing on the other side of Andrew’s apartment door is instantaneous, and Neil senses an inkling of routine. This is the norm in Andrew’s little makeshift family – the demanding meowing upon their arrival leaves him unphased. He’d expected it. Neil can picture the daily routine; Andrew comes home at odd hours, the cats passionately greet him for however long they deem appropriate, and then they just disappear and go about their business.

King seems to decipher that Neil is here for her, specifically, and follows Neil to the couch. Unlike Sir, she doesn’t say much – but she does rub her head against his torso and purr when he rakes his fingers through her black fur.

Meanwhile, Sir is far more insistent in the conversation he’s currently engaged in with Andrew.

“No.” Neil overhears Andrew’s conversation. “You cannot be ready for breakfast as yet. It’s the asscrack of dawn.”

Sir meows.

“well, usually I’m not even awake for another few hours, and you survive until then,” Andrew counters.

Sir meows.

“Okay, but consider: this is why you’re getting chubby,” Andrew says seriously.

Neil hears more meows but misses the rest of the conversation as Andrew disappears into another room.

Neil lays down on the couch, allowing King to climb all over him like a knobby jungle-gym. He closes his eyes in unexpected comfort for a moment. Andrew’s living room is snug and cosy. There’s only one couch and a beanbag chair, but the vast piles of books and warm colours make it feel far more lived-in than the empty living area he calls his own apartment. The cats have what Neil can only assume is a multi-layer climbing contraption on one end of the living room – it’s probably the height of Neil himself (and so, taller than Andrew) – and their food and water bowls, and bed-pillows, are set up on the opposite end of the room.

Sir joins King on the couch whilst Andrew enters the bathroom, and they settle in the space between Neil’s body and the couch backrest, closing their eyes to get some sleep. Neil isn’t sure what to do with himself anymore. Should he just leave? He came here to see King, but she played with him for ten minutes and then went to sleep. He should probably head home to allow Andrew to get some sleep, too.

But Andrew’s in the shower – Neil can hear the shower spray – and it’s rude to just _leave_ after Andrew welcomed him into his home. He’ll wait for Andrew and then leave, Neil decides.

There’s a short stack of worn-out novels on the coffee table, Neil notices. Leaning over and grabbing one without dislodging either sleeping feline is an extreme sport – but he gets it done. He settles deeper into the comfortable couch with the kittens, intent on reading a few chapters while waiting for Andrew.

Neil realizes that he’s reading a library book once he opens it and sees the library stamp. He remembers that Andrew had to borrow his book recommendation from the library, so he probably picked up a whole stack of books. The thought of Andrew sifting through books in a library and walking out with a stack half the height of himself makes Neil smile.

 _Paper Towns_ by _John Green_

Neil had only ever read _The Fault in Our Stars_ by _John Green,_ so he’s intrigued as he starts reading. The apartment is silent but for the occasional purr from the cats and the sound of the shower. Quiet, but not abandoned.

Comfort.

The apartment isn’t cluttered, but it isn’t a shell of a living space like Neil’s own apartment.

It looks like….a home.

A place where one chooses to return to every day, repeatedly, for an extended period of time – not a mere shelter where one must be ready to abandon at a moments notice. Andrew obviously doesn’t mind the predictability of returning to this address every day. To this specific room. He leaves his two cats behind every day, and they know he’ll be back. Andrew can do that, Neil thinks to himself. Andrew can allow the lives of others to rely on him because he’s not half expecting his own to end at any given time.

Neil can’t imagine what living like that must feel like.

True; Neil ended his father’s syndicate, and his mother didn’t live to see it’s downfall. But your survival instincts – the things that kept you alive this long – they don’t immediately adjust to what the mind knows is realistic. Vaguely, Neil understands that his father is dead. His father’s men are behind bars – he put them there. His mother isn’t going to come back from beyond the grave and make him quit his job and abandon his makeshift home.

And yet; every time he enters his apartment after work, he checks it for bugs. His sleep breaks at the slightest sound, and even in peaceful slumber, he never gets more than four hours of sleep – on instinct. After four hours, he should be swapping shifts with his mother. He should be keeping watch. He never even unpacked his clothes from his duffle bag because he needs to be ready to leave at a moment’s notice.

And he’d never allowed another life to rely on his own – because that’s callous. King would be better off on her own – on the streets, fending for herself – than she would be waiting in an apartment for Neil to come home and feed her every day – because what if one day he just…doesn’t return to her?

Neil thinks about what he’s doing right now. He’s in someone else’s apartment. They know his name, and where he works, and his exact shifts.

His mother would haul him bodily out of Andrew’s apartment and beat his actions' repercussions into him.

Neil shudders at the thought. The movement disturbs King, who wakes up and casts Neil a concerned look. She climbs up onto his chest and settles her head in the crook of Neil’s neck.

King closes her eyes and drifts back to sleep; her presence on his chest calms Neil. He matches his breathing to hers. He feels his body relaxing, one muscle at a time.

He doesn’t register when the book falls from his hand. Or when his eyes close. Or when he drifts out of consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make my heart smile :)


	4. It's Yes Until It's No.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil I-dont-sleep-more-than-four-hours-at-a-time Josten falls asleep on Andrew's couch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 chapters in a day because this is self-love. 
> 
> You guys I've been in such a slump, lately. It's been terrible. I managed to fail my drivers test TWICE. I graduated two months ago and I've just been violently unemployed, since. 
> 
> you guys I'm broke and I need a job.  
> and license.  
> and I feel so depressed. 
> 
> anyway here's andriel.

The smell of bacon draws Neil to consciousness. Slowly, each individual muscle awakens. One by one. He stretches.

Neil feels far more rested than he has in a long time, although his neck cramps slightly like he fell asleep in an uncomfortable position.

Neil’s eyes slowly flutter open. When he doesn’t recognise his immediate surroundings, he shoots upright in alarm. In a second, Neil is standing alongside, facing the couch he had previously slumbered on. He looks up and is awarded the sight of a short blonde by the stove, cooking the source of the aroma.

Neil had awoken silently, and Andrew doesn’t seem to notice that he has. To avoid startling him, Neil quietly resumes his position on the couch – where he now registers that the cats have vacated (how had their movement not woken him up??) – and does his best to wake up a little more squeakily.

When he stretches and glances over his shoulder this time, Andrew is leaning against the counter, strong arms folded as he regards Neil with a superior look.

Neil scratches the back of his neck and smiles sheepishly. “I’m sorry…I know you wanted me out so you could rest – I hadn’t _intended_ to fall asleep,”

Andrew dismisses his concern with a wave of his hand, “Don’t worry about it, I did rest,”

This is mostly true. He did get some shuteye, although he wouldn’t describe it as restful.

When Andrew had walked into the living room – damp hair and barefoot after his shower – he found Neil fast asleep under Andrew’s cats. One of the books Andrew had borrowed from the library was on the floor next to his hand, which slung off the sofa beside him.

As if Andrew didn’t already have a gay crisis every time he saw the beautiful boy, Neil looked relaxed and intriguing in his sleep. He looked so utterly exhausted that Andrew couldn’t find it in himself to uproot him.

He made some coffee and sipped it while reading the comments left on his most recent chapter. He answered emails and drafted the points of the plot he wants the next chapter to focus on.

By the time Andrew ran out of ways to stall time, Neil was still fast asleep – if not looking even _more_ comfortable and at ease. He did his best to feed the cats very loudly, but Neil never stirred – not even when King literally walked on his torso to leap off the couch. Terrible survival instincts on this one, Andrew thought to himself.

Andrew walked over to Neil to pick up the book on the floor and busied himself reading the first few chapters from the beanbag chair. This was a bad idea because it just made him dose off himself, and he couldn’t risk falling asleep with an unknown man in his home.

Frustrated and tired of waiting, Andrew turned back to Neils sleeping form, trying to think up ways to wake him up without embarrassing him or scaring him off for good.

How do you tell someone you’re still getting to know; ‘ I want you to leave, just not forever,’

But watching Neil sleep struck a chord in Andrew. He looked fragile. All his walls down. Quiet – for once. Andrew felt the instinct to protect instead of self-preserve. Andrew had always trusted his instincts, they were always right, and this boy didn’t set off alarm bells to his safety. He knew Neil was a liar – definitely. He couldn’t put his finger on what exactly it was that made him curious and suspicious, but Neil was still an intriguing story he couldn’t figure out. Like having the pages of a book but in the wrong order. Neil was interesting, as very few things are. It’s why Andrew kept coming back.

Still, to be sure that he was thinking with his head and not his dick – Andrew lured the cats into his bedroom with him and locked the door behind them. He was exhausted and curled up under the covers to get some rest.

His sleep had lasted an hour. He’d felt safe enough to fall asleep with Neil in his apartment but not safe enough to sleep _well_. He decided to investigate when he woke up, in case Neil had woken up or gone snooping. He hadn’t. Andrew slept another two hours. Repeated. When he napped for the third time, he decided to start making them some brunch – it's not like his interrupted naps were doing him any good.

He could only hope that the smell of food would be enough to wake the idiot up.

It was.

“You trusted me enough to sleep while I was here?” Neil replies, surprised.

Andrew just shrugged, “I’m a light sleeper, I’d have woken up if you tried anything,”

“Still, I… I’d just have kicked me out,” Neil said honestly.

“Next time, then,” Andrew turned back around to the stove, where he resumed frying slices of bacon.

Neil straightens up. Stretches. His spine crackles. He regards Andrew making breakfast and realises that he’s still intruding on Andrew.

“I’ll get going – sorry again for …everything,” he says awkwardly as he heads towards the door.

“The coffee machine is over there,” Andrew nods towards the appliance.

Neil realises this for the invitation it is.

“how do you like your eggs?” Andrew asks.

Neil shakes his head slowly, “I couldn’t possibly – I’ve already intruded enough,”

“I’ve already made more than I can eat,” he gestures towards the giant pile of bacon.

Andrew’s been waiting for Neil to wake up for hours; he’s not ready for him to leave just yet. That would be anticlimactic.

Neil still looks unsure. To be honest, he doesn’t particularly like bacon.

Andrew looks at him seriously. “I’m a college kid.” He informs. “Make me waste all this food, and I will stab you,” he says reasonably.

Neil lets out a shaky laugh and concedes, making his way past Andrew to the coffee machine. The toaster is next to it.

Well, he’s already been manipulated into breakfast, so, “Toast?” he offers Andrew in Andrew’s own kitchen.

Andrew almost smiles. Almost. He shakes his head but hands Neil the bread from the basket. Neil pops a single slice into the toaster and smiles. Fully.

He’s never had a friend like this. This domesticity and comfort. He’s never been taken care of like this by anyone.

Sure his been protected. His mother would have died before allowing him to; he’s been loved in that way. Protected.

But cared for? Not really.

Comfortable? Content? Domestic? He doesn’t even feel this way in his own apartment.

Andrew hands him an onion and shoves him towards the chopping board as he gets started on the eggs.

“Anything else we can add in the omelette?” Neil asks

“Check the fridge,” Andrew says around a bite of bacon, and that irrationally makes Neil’s heart flutter. Trust. The access to the fridge as if this isn’t his second time here—the safety and comfort, in this place and between each other.

“Is there anything you don’t eat?” he asks.

“Sure, but I don’t think you’ll find it in my fridge,” Andrew points out, making Neil flush.

“Anything you don’t like in your eggs specifically, I mean,”

“What are you considering?”

“mushrooms and baby tomatoes,”

“that’s fine,”

Neil chops them all up, and they fry in the pan that previously held the bacon – which Neil doesn’t think is the healthiest or smartest approach, but Andrew doesn’t appear to have another frying pan, so…their eggs may be a bit discoloured.

It sounds unappealing.

The idea of having unappealing eggs with Andrew sounds appealing.

“don’t sleep more than four hours, my arse,” Andrew remarks.

Neil looks at him curiously before finally checking the clock; he does a doubletake.

“What? – I, I slept for _six hours_?”

“I guess we know which one of us needs their beauty rest, now,” Andrew smirks.

Neil looks far too bewildered to have a comeback. “Andrew, I have never slept six consecutive hours, ever I think, to be honest,”

That’s worthy of interrogation – and vastly suspicious, but Andrew decides to circle back to that later. Neil looks ready to have a full-blown panic attack.

“Did you have somewhere to be? Is this a problem?” Andrew asks, instead.

Neil runs his fingers through his hair as he tries to gather himself. “work. In a few hours. Not yet.”

Andrew raises an eyebrow at him. “I thought you only work Friday’s and Saturdays,”

“At the diner.” Neil clarifies. “I’m working at the bowling alley today,”

Andrew raises both eyebrows. “how many jobs do you _work_?”

“multiple” is all Neil offers. He still looks a bit shaken up, so Andrew takes over the chopping.

The ingredients fry in the bacon oil, and by the time they add the eggs in, the oil is mostly used up, and the eggs are mostly their intended colour.

They divide their eggs. Neil eats his with toast, and Andrew eats his with bacon – while expressing that Neil is proving to be a disappointment by not liking bacon.

They’re silent as they eat. The radio is on quietly in the background, and they listen to this weeks countdown of top 20 songs.

They’re almost done eating when Neil speaks. “I can’t believe I’m more comfortable on your couch than I am in my own bed, in my own apartment,” he says softly. He seems lost in thought.

Andrew files this information away for later. He doesn’t say anything – what can he say? He hardly knows this boy. He tries not to think about the fact that his mind and body both want to trust Neil. That even if it was a turbulent rest, he did manage to fall asleep with the knowledge that Neil was in the apartment. That Neil’s mouth may be a liar, but he hasn’t done anything for Andrew to be suspicious yet.

Neil helps Andrew wash up. He knows he needs to leave soon, and he wants to speak to Andrew as much as possible. They don’t have further plans to hang out. He doesn’t have any books to return to Andrew. If he does see Andrew again, it will probably only be on Friday night if Andrew shows up during Neil’s shift. And that’s not definite, either.

“Tell me a secret,” he says as he dries off the dishes.

“I’m not in the business of sharing secrets,” Andrew says honestly, “isn’t that the point of secrets? To keep them?”

Neil considers this and appreciates the honesty behind the sentiment. “Tell me anything I don’t know – it doesn’t need to be a secret.”

Andrew is quiet for a moment as he thinks.

“The national animal of Scotland is a unicorn,” he eventually contributes. “Which either means that Unicorns are real and the Scottish are helping them stay in hiding – or that Scotland isn’t real,” Andrew says seriously, as he says everything.

Neil takes a moment to digest this before letting out a guffaw of a laugh. “I meant tell me something about you, Andrew,” he points out, “but I’ve been to Scotland, so, yes, it is definitely a real place. I haven’t run into any unicorns during my stay. Although, regrettably, I hadn’t been actively looking for unicorns either.” He admits.

“a pity.” Andrew agrees.

They’re quiet as they continue to clean up. Once they’re done, Neil can’t think of any more reasons to further overstay his welcome – although he desperately wants to stay.

“Walk me out?” he asks Andrew as he stretches and walks towards the door. Andrew follows him. “where are the cats?” Neil asks.

“Apartments not that big,” Andrew replies, “if they’re not in here, then they’re probably in my bedroom, stealing socks for their collection.”

Neil chuckles. He’s out the door now in the hallway. They simply look at each other.

“I can drive you home.” Andrew reminds him.

Neil shakes his head. “I like walking, and it’s really close; it would just waste your time.”

Andrew honestly just wanted to spend a few more moments with Neil – as ridiculous as that sounds, but he accepts this without protest.

He leans forward slightly towards Neil. Extends a hand. Neil’s head unconsciously draws closer to Andrew’s hand, like he didn’t mean to. Like a magnetic pull. Andrew tucks a stray curl behind Neil’s ear and then pulls away. This is getting dangerous. He needs to keep himself in check.

Neil, for the most part, is confused by this draw to Andrew. His priority has always been staying alive, and he’d always been content as long as he was. He never needed more than that. He’d never had time to need more than that.

So why was he dreading going back to his empty apartment? Why did he want to stay here and talk about nothing?

Why was he hoping that Andrew would spontaneously decide to go bowling tonight so they can hang out like they do during Neil’s shifts at the diner.

Why was anything happening?

They watched each other silently for a minute – as if neither of them knows what to say and that knowledge is enough. Neil smiles at Andrew. Andrew doesn’t smile back, but his eyes are fond. Neil doesn’t reach out to touch Andrew, but he takes a step closer. He doesn’t know why – he’s allowing instinct and this invisible pull between them to lead the way.

Andrew swallows. Neil watches the movement of Andrew’s adams apple down his throat. He feels his own respiration rate quicken.

This has never happened to Neil before. He doesn’t know what’s going on. He’s had plenty of panic attacks, but this shallow breathing feels different.

They’re both leaning in without realising it—a few millimetres between their noses.

Andrew’s voice is gruff when he speaks, and the sound of it does interesting things to Neil’s already inconsistent heart rate.

“Yes or no, Neil?” Andrew asks.

“yes,” Neil says immediately.

Andrew shakes his head, berating him. “too quick – do you even know what you’re saying yes _to_?”

Neil finds that his own voice is gravelly when he replies. “Whatever you want – the answer is _yes_.”

And it’s true. And that’s horrifying. That’s….careless. Neil has no idea what he’s saying, and yet he means every word of it.

Andrew’s hand finds the back of Neil’s neck – but it doesn’t draw him in. He holds Neil steady. Grounds him. He tuts at him, shaking his head. “never say that. not to anyone. Be specific when you grant permission – it’s yes until it's no.”

Neil wants to tell him that it's yes, whatever the question is, but he doesn’t.

“Ask me again then. Ask me, specifically.” His tone is borderline whining, pleading - and he doesn’t recognise this version of himself.

Andrew is watching his lips. Neil is watching Andrew’s eyes, focused on his lips.

Andrew takes a deep, steady breath. “I want to kiss you, Neil. Yes or No.”

And it should stun Neil because honestly, he never thought about kissing Andrew – he never really thinks about kissing anybody even if he’s read a million story kisses. But he also shouldn’t be surprised because…is that not what this was leading up to? All this leaning into each other and escalated heart rates?

He thinks about it this time. Careful not to reply too quickly. Careful to allow Andrew the certainty that he’s sincere.

He leans in a hair's breadth closer. “yes, Andrew,” he whispers.

And before he knows it, he’s back in the apartment with the door closed behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This story is probably going to go up a rating or two by the next chapter


	5. The tiny, broken pieces of you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You like it. I like that you like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for the words of encouragement after the little tantrum I had, last chapter. I think that maybe the feeling of uncertainty terrifies everyone. And everyone feels lost sometimes. Right now I feel like I'm in a slump. It's a bad mental and emotional state when you feel like every step you try to make to improve your life goes to shit. 
> 
> But little things bring me moments of joy, and receiving all the positive feedback I do from you guys is definitely one of those things.

“I want to kiss you, Neil.” Andrew is staring Neil down. Challenging him. Daring him to back down, hoping he won’t. “Yes or No?”

It’s out there now. There’s no turning back. He’s laid his intentions, truthfully, in front of a liar. He can’t take it back. He can’t say he was just kidding. This is either the start of an exciting thrill or Andrew is about to get rejected.

Neil is quiet for a moment. That’s good. It means he’s thinking, for a change.

Andrew isn’t sure who leaned in further, but there’s suddenly barely any space separating their noses.

And then Neil says his name, “Yes, Andrew,” he whispers into the sacred nothing between their bodies, and Andrew kisses his last bit of restraint goodbye with that permission.

Andrew pounces as soon as permission is granted; he’s on Neil’s mouth as soon as the words leave it.

He’s on his tip-toes for a moment; but he’d never admit it and Neil will never mention it.

His fingers meet the back of Neil’s warm neck as he guides Neil’s mouth down and leans up to reach it with his own. It’s a whirlwind from there, it’s like something finally snapped into place or erupted within them, but it’s not slow-motion, it’s a million colours in high resolution. Ultraviolet colours. Andrew closes his eyes.

As soon as Neil is back in his apartment, Andrew shoves the door closed behind him and pins Niel against it.

His lips back on Niel’s a second later.

It’s not hungry and erotic, but it’s not slow and sensual.

It’s somewhere in between. In that place where this is too exciting and uncertain and new to take things slow and steady… but they’re both being careful with each other to not let it escalate too far.

It’s breathless and Neil gasps – Andrew swallows the shallow breaths that leave Neil’s mouth as his tongue deepens the kiss.

When their tongue’s touch, Neil whines. He’s losing control, he’s losing himself in this foreign delight. He also has no idea what he’s doing – Andrew realizes this when Neil doesn’t know what to do with his own tongue. It’s sloppy and uncoordinated on Neil’s part, but he’s enthusiastic and that’s enough to egg Andrew on.

“No hands,” Andrew scolds when Neil rests his hands on Andrew’s hips.

It’s not his fault – he doesn’t _know_. Andrew is going to need to train this one.

“I’m sorry,” Neil immediately pulls back to apologise. He holds his hands up in front of him in surrender.

“I didn’t say _no_ , I said no _hands_ ,” Andrew emphasizes, staring Neil down.

“No hands.” Neil assures. He slides both his hands in his jeans pockets and stares right back. “I’ll keep them in my pockets.” He promises.

“Yes or No,” Andrew asks again, to be sure.

“It’s still a yes, Andrew,” Neil assures. And oh, Neil doesn’t realize what the sound of Andrew’s name rolling off his lying tongue does to Andrew.

Andrew traps Neil between his arms – his palms flat against the door on either side of Neil’s shoulder’s. Barricading him with all 5 ft even of his body. 

Neil’s eyes are focused on Andrew's lips, but he lets Andrew set the pace, he lets Andrew lean in.

Andrew’s lips reach his again and it’s slower this time. Neil clenches his fists in his pocket to remind himself not to touch. Andrew notices…he appreciates. He’s been trying to teach obedience to Roland for weeks until he eventually resorted to handcuffs – but it took Neil one reprimand to learn.

Andrew bites down on Neil’s lip in a silent thanks, eliciting a moan from the taller boy which Andrew swallows.

Neil’s eyes slit open, barely. Hazily. He watches Andrew for a beat, watches Andrew’s flush cheeks and blown pupils. Tries to memorise it.

Andrew can’t help but memorise Neil, and he hates it. He hates that he wants to cause Neil to make sinful sounds again and again and memorise each one. He hates that Neil’s lips are kiss swollen because of him. That the very attractive vein in his neck is pumping erratically as his heart rate escalates. He hates that he doesn’t want to forget the sight in front of him, even though he won’t.

He hates the fact that he feels. He hates that _hate_ is a _feeling_ in itself.

“Staring.” Andrew says while staring right back.

“no staring?”

Andrew shrugs. “I don’t care.”

Neil smiles and leans closer. “yes or no,” he whispers into Andrew’s ear.

“I already said yes.”

“not your lips.”

A pause.

“above the shoulders.”

Neil will take that for the offer of trust it is. He takes Andrew’s earlobe between his teeth and bites down slightly, causing Andrew to gasp and drag his blunt nails against the door.

“just for the record,” Neil comments while brushing his lips along Andrew’s jawline, “ _I_ don’t mind _your_ hands. I mean – in, like, normal places,”

Despite everything, that evokes a surprised chuckle from Andrew. “what is _normal_ places? Specific, I told you. or I won’t touch you.”

Neil is quiet for a moment.

“above my waist.” And Andrew’s finger’s grip Neil’s hair like they’ve wanted to since that very first night in the diner.

Neil is crouched down, his face in Andrew’s neck as he kisses the soft skin. He’s letting desire and instinct drive him, disciplined by Andrew’s body language and verbal rules.

He’s never wanted to do these things before. He’s kissed before, a few girls, but he’s never _wanted_ to, not like this.

 _Never_ like _this_.

He follows his instinct and the way Andrew clutches onto his hair and tugs – but doesn’t pull him away – and bites down. He licks the sore spot. Andrew doesn’t make any noise but his breathing quickens and his grip in Neil’s hair gets tighter.

“your neck fetish is unattractive,” Andrew almost moans. Almost.

But he leans further into Neil’s taller body, pinning him harder against the door with his own body.

“you like it,” Neil cheekily replies. “I like that you like it.”

Andrew opens his eyes just to roll them, and uses his grip on Neil’s hair to pull Neil’s lips back against his own.

Their tongues taste each other and it’s a slow dance of lips and tongues and teeth.

Shared breaths and muffled moans and whines and pleads.

And before they know it – way too soon in Andrew’s opinion – Neil pulls away to glance at the digital clock on the microwave behind Andrew’s head.

He sighs and slumps against the door.

Andrew is silent, but his finger’s are still in Neil’s hair and he watches him intently.

Neil meets Andrew’s eyes once more.

“I have work in an hour.”

Andrew proceeds to look at him.

Neil bites his lip as he forces the words out of him against his will. “I need to leave now if I’m going to have enough time to shower and make my shift.”

 _Just shower here and borrow a shirt_ , Andrew thinks to himself.

But that’s ridiculous. He hardly knows Neil. Neil has his own apartment, and job(s) and life and friends. And truths that Andrew has only barely begun uncovering.

He nods once and takes a step away from Neil, his arms falling back down to his sides. “I’ll drive you home.”

Neil shakes his head in preparation to protest.

“ – if you only have an hour then you don’t really have a lot of time.” He says reasonably.

Neil’s eyes find the clock again before he nods his concession.

The car ride is silent until they reach Neil’s apartment building.

“I’d invite you up, but like you said – I only have an hour…”

Andrew dismisses this with a lazy wave and they share a casual, noncommitted goodbye as Neil hops out of the Maserati.

He didn’t lie, per say. But he wouldn’t invite Andrew into his apartment regardless.

How would he explain it? Andrew would realize how weird he is. How suspicious his living situation is.

How do you explain living out of a dufflebag? Or why his apartment has no personality what so ever, or furniture or pictures or anything.

He doesn’t have a home. He has a shelter.

And it’s not a part of himself he wants Andrew to see.

It’s one of the ugly parts of himself. One of the jagged pieces that reminds Neil Josten of Nathaniel Wesninski. Of Nathan.

Of Abram, deep in his core.

Of every alias he’s ever assumed.

These tiny broken pieces of himself that remind him that he’s not like everyone else, and that his past really did happen even if it feels sometimes like it could have just been a nightmare.

Like a scar – similar to the physical scars painted across the canvas of his skin.

And how does he explain this to Andrew? – to anyone.

He can’t say he’s just one of those people procrastinating unpacking, because he owns like 20 items and they’re all shoved in his duffel bag.

No boxes. No books – even if he’s read them all.

No photographs – nothing that could leave a trail or prevent him from being a ghost.

How do you just…stop being a ghost, after nineteen years?

How much would it take to let him be a real boy?

A real name. A real job. Money he earned instead of inherited or stole.

And yet, Neil Josten still feels like a fib, sometimes. Most of the time.

Like it’s just another mask. Someone he pretends to be, to be anyone other than who he is.

Except for when he’s with Andrew.

No, Andrew didn’t know Nathaniel or Abram or Alex or Chris or Ryan.

He didn’t know _Neil_.

Neil could have told him any name he felt like, and he’d have to believe him.

But Andrew knows his coffee order, and how he likes his sandwiches, and his favourite books and how his favourite book quote isn’t actually from his favourite book itself.

And how he feels about a billion different fictional characters. And how he feels about how _those_ _characters_ feel about _each other._

And now, Andrew knows how Neil’s hair feels between his fingers. And the sounds Neil makes when Andrew bites his bottom lip. And how Neil’s body involuntarily arches into Andrew when their tongues dance.

And he knows how Neil’s blunt fingertips dig into his palms to stop himself from accidentally crossing Andrew’s boundaries.

Andrew knows the tiny pieces of himself that make him a complete person. He can change his hair colour, and eye colour, and name. He can lie about his past and have no clue about his future.

But he can’t lie about the books he’s read, and he wouldn’t lie about how he’s felt about each of them. And every single book he’s ever read in his life – the memorable and the amazing and the really boring and disappointing ones – have changed him in some way. Have taught him something – about the world or just about himself.

Maybe his mouth can lie but not when Andrew’s mouth is against it. 

He can’t lie about his feelings. And they’re there. They’re new. And they’re scary – terrifying even, and Mary would have his head for it.

But they’re there.

But of course, Neil hasn’t figured that out as yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just for the record;
> 
> Yes, Neil does have feels for Andrew.  
> No, Neil does not know.


End file.
